


Youth and its Instability

by wisteriawall



Series: The 70th Hunger Games [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 70th Hunger Games, Annie Cresta-centric, Bilingual Character(s), Developing Friendships, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Music, One Shot, Prequel, Reapings (Hunger Games), Religion Mention, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Safe For Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteriawall/pseuds/wisteriawall
Summary: Just weeks before her nineteenth birthday, the reaping for the 70th Annual Hunger Games subverts everything she has come to expect from life.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta/Original Character(s)
Series: The 70th Hunger Games [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927858
Kudos: 3





	Youth and its Instability

**Author's Note:**

> Just a clarification: I headcanon Annie's birth name to be Aine [pronounced on-ya]. And for this or anything else taking place in Four, expect some Latinx influence through their language, customs, and nods to former uses of Catholicism!

Reaping day was one of the few times out of the year that Aine Cresta was able to sleep in. It was a time of rest, where families of all walks were meant to spend time with each other through a lazy morning. Those with no chance of being reaped were thankful, those who did not train would pray for a volunteer, and those who did train would talk themselves up to the ultimate sacrifice. She fell in the middle category, a girl with no formal training aside from being able to weave a net of impressive strength. People had won with that talent before, but she didn’t fancy her chances. It was her last year in the drawing and she wasn’t particularly worried when imagining her chances of being reaped. A large district made it that much more likely for her to be overlooked

District Four was often awake and moving before the Sun. Fish were active at dawn, and so the family business, the Chucherías de Cresta, would usually open hours before to allow fishermen to come in before heading out to sea. The reaping would be held at two, and summer meant that there was no school to punctuate the days with schoolchildren on their commute. In a bid to keep herself busy, Aine’s morning is spent curled up on the plush couch of her sitting room, a pile of rope to one side and a partially completed net to the other, hands working diligently. It was something decorative. A wedding was coming up, though she didn’t remember the client’s name off the top of her head, so it was her task to ensure there was a beautiful piece at the center of their ceremony. Music played from the radio across the room, a catchy tune from the Capitol that she hummed along to. A sense of calm washed her system.

Loose plans were made for how she’d spend her day after attending the reaping. First, she would return home and change out of the fancy clothes. Then, if she knew the family whose child had been reaped, she would take whatever dish her mother had made over to their house. Even the parents of volunteers were often too glued to the screen to take time to cook, so it had become customary to keep the family well-fed through the games. If time allowed, then, she would go out with her friends to celebrate their safety, or to mourn the possible loss. Whichever felt right.

The Crestas, while not exactly powerful, were a wealthy bunch that fit in quite well with the other detached inland homes. They were kith to the mayor, friendly to the Capitol family that oversaw the Naval force, dinner party guests to Four’s other wealthy merchants. Children from their neighborhood were rarely reaped (not a one collected tesserae, and hardly any of them trained) but when they were, they were often saved by some volunteer chomping at the bit to claim their family’s new place in high society. As it was, they didn’t experience much loss, a community of successful elites dealing both through their district stores and directly to the Capitol. Their trades protected them from the dangers of working out on the fishing boats, and their wealth protected them from the reaping. Death was not a possibility for the only child of the family, she was invincible.

The clock ticked on and on, how boring the time was when the family’s store was closed. Eleven came soon enough, and so she finally saw fit to busy herself with getting ready. Few words were shared with her parents aside from kisses on cheeks at the breakfast table and a groggy “Buenos días” to mark the late beginning of their day. Once in her room, the process began.

Careful applications of skincare products melt into her face after a shower, warmed up by calloused fingers. Eyes meet her own in the mirror of her bathroom vanity, hues of peridot well acquainted with their reflection. She was stark naked, staring at herself with an intensity she wouldn’t ever admit to. Stuck in the middle, she concluded. Always just on the threshold between “girl” and “woman.” The thinness of a preteen, round cheeks of a child, and hipbones of a woman. It was an awkward stage to sit at, never entirely fitting in with any group that she aspired to. The promise of one day “filling out” didn’t seem to plan on coming true any time soon, but then again, there were advantages when it came to her wardrobe. 

A dress hung up on her bathroom door stared her down in the mirror and reminded her of the day to come. Seafoam green and made of fine silk, one of her prized possessions. The dress, once a garment that added on years, now took them away. Light tailoring over time assured it still fit her body properly, only made easier by the fact that she hadn’t grown more than an inch since age twelve. She dried her hair and stepped into the dress, smoothing the flouncy skirt down to its hem on her mid-thigh. Funny how she looked so different each year despite wearing the same garment.

An ode to youth and its instability. 

The heat of District Four did not make cosmetics a comfortable addition to most, and so all she could will herself to put on was something to line her eyes, color her cheeks, and tint her lips. The action allowed her to wonder how the district’s escort, Iovita, managed it all this time. She had to be sweating enough to ruin her skin, she imagined. Maybe that was why she was always so done up. Aine’s long brown hair is left down with her front sections braided, pinned back, and adorned with an ornate comb. It matched the necklace hanging around her neck, an ancient crucifix of pearls and silver that outdated Panem itself. 

Aine decided that the look allowed her to at least pull off some semblance of adulthood, even if it was only defined by a slim waist and an attitude that quite clearly belonged to a teenager. It was good enough, something that wouldn’t embarrass her parents if she ended up on the screen. As midday passed, she kissed her parents goodbye, promised to catch up with them promptly at three, and left the house. 

The collection of elite teenagers that met her on the street contained a lifetime of friends. It was a circle close enough to all know one another’s secrets, close enough that they’d all seen one another naked in at least one context, and all knew the taste of each other’s lips either by virtue of a dare, alcohol, relationship, or some combination of the three. The group of six all teased and prodded at each other on their long walk to town, more or less unaffected by the idea of the reaping. It was a threat, of course, but that was hardly the case for spoiled children whose biggest problem of the year was deciding what they would do since they’d completed school. For now, they would all just make it to the town square for their final reaping. Then, upon leaving, they might fancy themselves adults. 

Colm Lacy pulled Aine into his side and kissed her head as they walked with practiced confidence. “You look beautiful,” he told her in a quieter voice, pinching at her ribs through the silk, “Is that a new dress?”

“Very funny. Is that the same joke from last year?” She countered and wrapped an arm around him, hand resting in his back pocket.

“Might be— I’ve been practicing my delivery. Any better?”

“Just un poco. Pero are you coming over tonight?”

“Definitely. I’ll wait ‘till late so I don’t have to chat with your parents, leave a window open?”

She nodded, making a mental note to her day’s roster.

They had been together for just over a year at that point, much longer than she had ever found herself in a relationship before. Aine had concluded that this was it, she had found her person. They got along, enjoyed each other’s company, and had a lifetime of friendship and adventures to stand the test of time. He wasn’t bad in bed, either. That probably helped his case. No official engagement was in the books, but it was a common enough topic of conversation nowadays.

It was all planned out, heads full of thoughts and excitement. The perfect house with perfect flowers in the window boxes and a marriage that proved even more perfect internally than externally. Never mind that they were eighteen, it was always assumed that children knew nothing, but those people did not know Aine Cresta and Colm Lacy. 

Any malaise of the day had been washed away by the time the group reached the town square, calm enough to complain and joke with the peacekeepers about how they didn’t feel they should be split up. They didn’t seem particularly amused by the teens, though Aine couldn’t see their faces well enough to tell. Not wanting to start any real trouble, they signed in, divided, and filed into their spots with the other eighteen-year-olds of their sex at the front of the crowd. They wouldn’t crowd the very first row, however. That immediate section was always silently reserved for those who had trained and done the best for the year. The examples to be set.

The two other girls in their group, Catalina and Maria Berm, were at her side once they’d settled on a spot to stand. They all caught up and gossipped amongst the other girls in their year, though the twins were always particularly chatty. Finnick Odair was the subject of their affections for the hour, sitting up on the stage with the rest of the victors. He was stunning, and they were all well aware of that fact, shimmering like a god in the District Four heat. Even here, every event he attended seemed to become the Finnick Odair Show. 

Something didn’t seem right about talking as if he wasn’t right there, or as if he wasn’t real at all. They had a history, if only in passing and only as much as she had with most others in the district. He had come into her family’s shop many times and Aine, as the resident before-dawn and after-school keeper of the register, had met and spoken with him most of those occasions. Enough to know each other’s names, she would guess, but no more than that. Their closest interaction had been in the week of his father’s death, not too long after his victory tour. Aine had given him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a palm sized figurine of an angel. No more.

The gossiping went on until two on the dot when Iovita Match and her obnoxiously loud heels clicked across the wooden stage, amplified by numerous microphones and speakers. She was a ridiculous woman in a globe shaped dress and wig to look like a dragonfly, bright blue to compliment, as she called it, the district of paradise. It might’ve been funny if it weren’t so tragic a sight. The festivities began with Iovita and Mayor Fuente’s speeches, followed by the reminder of why the games existed, then more words were spoken by the bumbling woman as she glided across the stage. It would all be over soon enough, she guessed, and then she would go home.

When a pasty white hand dipped into the women’s bowl of names, Aine did perk up halfway. Her interest is lost as she heard the name “Annie” ring out over the crowd. She was safe, and so she let out a deep sigh, not even noticing that the last name was her own. What she did notice, though, was the way that no one stepped up. Everyone looked confused, and so her own confusion followed. 

“Annie Cresta?” Iovita repeated, louder this time. There was no one in her family with the name Annie. Even the mayor’s expression began to sour while Iovita just grew frustrated. A hush over the crowd.

Mayor Fuente, a man not often flustered, took a few hesitant steps up to the podium to peer over the escort’s shoulder. A few whispered words were exchanged between the pair, seemingly repeating something over and over. Mayor Fuente made eye contact with Aine there in her little pocket of the crowd, giving a look that she couldn’t quite discern. As Iovita’s shoulders straightened back up with renewed confidence and she began to speak again, Aine suddenly realized why. It was an apology.

“I appear to have misspoken,” the woman said. Annie could feel the color drain from her cheeks. Did everyone around her just have the same realization that she had? Cat and Maria must have because they were gripping her hands, knuckles white as snow despite their natural tans. “What I meant to say was...” Just a slight pause, rehearsing the mouth’s shapes to pronounce the name that she’d misread previously, “The female tribute representing District Four will be Aine Cresta! Come on up, darling, we don’t have all day.”

Aine’s heart must have dropped to her stomach, this was supposed to be impossible. She was not at risk of the games, this was merely a formality before the rest of her life was set to begin. All eyes were on her. When peacekeepers began their synchronized walk towards her, she immediately began to move towards and up onto the stage, not wanting the humiliation to come with being escorted by law enforcement. Unsurprisingly, the impersonal and upbeat “Sorry, dear” from Iovita’s towering figure did little to console her. How was she supposed to explain that the insult didn’t come in mispronouncing a name, but in being drawn to begin with?

Her eyes scanned the crowd for those she loved while the world ceased to spin. A mother, a father, best friends, her boyfriend. All people that she would never see again after their allotted three minutes per group to say goodbye. No one volunteered, shouldn’t they have volunteered? Was it the strangeness of the missed name that kept them from stepping up? Or perhaps some code of ethics keeping them from volunteering for someone at their last chance to fight for the glory that she wanted no part of. 

The boy, Braon Fitzgerald, was reaped without much fanfare. After the absolute embarrassment that was mispronouncing one of the two names she would have to read that day, Iovita seemed reluctant to bring that type of attention to herself again so quickly. She can’t bring herself to so much as look at him, feeling sick to her stomach. The world had started to spin and her eyes felt as though a pin was pricking them over and over. She wouldn’t cry, and she wouldn’t pass out, and she wouldn’t throw up. That wasn’t an option, she had to be strong and stand her ground, the whole world was watching. 

Rather, the Capitol would be watching. But weren’t they the only ones who mattered?

They shook hands, though Aine’s eyes stayed out on the crowd, flipping between her loved ones. It was all a whirlwind of applause and appreciation for the victors before they were ushered into the Justice Building. Three minutes for each person— Catarina and Maria would probably come together, as would her parents. Which of her friends would come for a final goodbye? Who would be allowed, was there a limit? How would she say goodbye to Colm?

Her rushing head was brought to a halt as a fairly familiar male voice entered her consciousness. She lifted her head, and there was Finnick Odair. He was much less intense and overpowering in person, but also taller than she thought him to be previously. He had granted her just a moment of peace as he led her to the room where she would have visitors. While they didn’t share a proper introduction, he did have a few words to give under his breath.

“Annie. You’re never living that one down, Sunshine, but neither will she.”


End file.
